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Arthur had no time for the town of Rhodes. It was too hot, too muggy, and its residents were disagreeable at best.
He had even less time for the stupid jobs the gang were running for the local sheriff.
And now, with sweat pooling all down his back and his knees aching from being crouched for so long, he had to admit that the reward of a wagon full of moonshine was almost worth it. It would’ve been, if he didn’t know he’d be running some other fool’s errand within the next twenty-four hours.
There was no room for complaining, though. The gang was having a hard enough time as it was, and the sooner they could line their pockets with cash, the sooner Arthur could be out of this hellhole and somewhere he could breathe. But, even if there was room for complaining, Arthur knew deep down that he wouldn’t bother Dutch with his bellyaching. The man had always done right by him, pulling the pair out of tough scrapes and bouncing out the other side. Sure, there had been (many) times Arthur wanted to throw Dutch’s plans back in his face, but when the man approached him with a spark in his eyes and eagerness in his voice it was impossible to say no. Arthur would do anything for Dutch, and that wasn’t a mutable fact.
And when Dutch's face lit up at the realisation that for all it was, Rhodes was a town filled with stupidity that could be easily swindled, the aches in Arthur’s bones from a day's work somehow eased.
“Come on,” he clapped a loving hand to Arthur’s shoulder, “you ride with me.”
Arthur dipped his head to hide the blush on his cheeks under the brim of his hat, while the two mounted up and Dutch gave his orders to Bill on what to do with the moonshine.
While he was a self-professed fool, Arthur wasn’t foolish enough to not see the change incurring in Dutch’s personality over the past few months. Something in the back of his mind itched, trying to get his attention and repeatedly told him that the man’s misjudgement is going to be more of a problem than he initially thought. So, hearing Dutch talk about these two local feuding families and all the opportunities that came with them, quietened those doubts and brought forward something soft and comforting in Arthur’s chest. Perhaps it was all a small phase after all.
“This is startin’ to sound like the young Dutch again,” Arthur snickered, spurring his horse on to keep pace with The Count.
“What do you mean, young Dutch? I’m as strong as I have ever been,” Dutch threw him an offended look, and it never failed to amaze Arthur just how quickly the man’s expression could drop from happy as a clam in high water to as unhappy as a clam... on dry land, he guessed. Arthur never was one for meaningful prose.
“Hey,” Dutch started again, a smile growing on his face once more as he eyed the path ahead, “you know what, why don’t I race you back?”
“A race? Your pride really that hurt?”
“This has nothing to do with pride, my boy. Just a bit of friendly competition,” Dutch raised his brows, challenging Arthur with his gaze if not with his words. “Don’t be a spoilsport. Tell you what, if you win you can have whatever you want.”
“Whatever I want?” Arthur’s mind dove into a sea of desires, from a new pair of spurs to a new repeater he’d been eyeing in the gunsmith. Or, perhaps he could mock Dutch a little and get him to do his laundry. Or perhaps he could...
No, not that.
It wouldn’t matter either way, Dutch was as talented on horseback as he was everything else, and while Arthur too could navigate a mount better than most, he wasn’t sure if Dutch’s age had lessened his aptitude that much. It’d be a close one, but Arthur thought too highly of his mentor to assume he could surpass him.
“Jesus, Arthur, don’t spend too long thinking about it. And remember, if and when I win, I get whatever I want,” Dutch reminded him smugly, slowing The Count to a walk.
Of course, no deal with reward and without risk existed when it came to Dutch.
“Okay,” Arthur conceded, knowing that whatever Dutch wanted from him would be a better fate than the man calling him yellow for the next week. “You’re on.”
“That’s the spirit,” Dutch gleamed, “Okay. On my word... set... go!”
And The Count was off, kicking up dust and leaving Arthur squinting to shield his eyes as his opponent got a starting lead. He bristled, bringing his reins down on his horse with the aim of at least catching up with him.
“You never were much of a rider!” Dutch called as he turned at the fork.
Something inside Arthur shifted at Dutch’s winning form ahead of him, and the adrenaline of competition and the prospect of having him in his favour surged through his veins. Arthur kicked his horse’s sides harder like he only did when running from the law and grinned when he reached his side. “We’ll see about that!” he cried, slipping past The Count as the trees lining the edge of the forest to his left blurred into only moving colours.
He could’ve sworn Dutch yelled something back, but the sound from the train on the overhead tracks drowned it out regardless. It’d been a while since the two had done anything like this, and the rush from it was like nothing else. Continuing to gain on Dutch, Arthur yelled over his shoulder before reaching a farm.
“Any time you wanna stop for a breather, you let me know.”
Hoping the man heard but uncaring for his reaction, Arthur weaved between the bales of hay and grazing sheep. He was surprised his Tennessee Walker was doing so well in this, The Count was an elite horse and Dutch sang the arrogant beast’s praises whenever he got a chance. However, the delta between their stamina began to show as hoofbeats sounded behind Arthur.
“You really thought you could hold that lead?” Dutch gained on Arthur and passed him, flashing a grin as he did and Arthur willed his horse to push just a little longer as they reached the final stretch.
This was his chance, after being at the man’s beck and call for all these years to finally get something in return. To finally get the thing he’d been thinking about since...
No. He wouldn’t ask for that.
Regardless, his previously unbothered connection to the race strengthened with the thought of the look on Dutch’s face alone if he ended up losing. Arthur dug in his heels.
“Final stretch,” he commented, his horse coming neck and neck with The Count as camp neared. From here, Arthur could see the beads of sweat on Dutch’s temple but willed himself to look away and focus on the finish line.
He broke away from him until The Count disappeared from his peripheral and camp came into view. Lungs burning, Arthur half-skidded, half-stopped his horse by the hitching post and leant on the pommel of his saddle to calm his heart rate.
He’d done it, he’d actually beat Dutch in a race. Races with Dutch when Arthur was in his youth were more frustrating than anything, by the time his experience started catching up his body began to bulk and made him less naturally agile as a rider. But now, as a grown man? It felt nothing short of great. So great, that Arthur hadn’t even considered their initial deal.
“I never knew you were quite so good at running away, Arthur,” Dutch said through laboured breaths, hitching his horse beside Arthur’s and the two dismounted fluidly.
“I never knew age had slowed you down quite so much,” Arthur chortled, leaning up against the hitching post.
“Well,” Dutch took out his bandana and wiped the sweat from his brow, “time is a bastard. When you get to be my age, you’ll know that better than anything.”
Typical. Arthur hardly batted an eyelid at the lack of congratulations and unnecessary excuses, expecting nothing less and putting Dutch’s defensiveness down to his injured pride. Still, the silent victory was a welcomed one.
“Be well. I had fun with you today. You’re,” the falter from Dutch trying to find his words was a rare one and reminded Arthur that he too, was only human. “I was gonna say you’re like a son to me,” Dutch’s hand pressed firmly onto Arthur’s shoulder, and it was then that he realised he’d been avoiding eye contact and promptly met the man’s gaze, “but you’re more than that.”
Well, if that didn’t spark warmth inside him.
And then he went, Arthur’s limbs forgetting how to hold themselves naturally and he felt something he’d repressed for far too long. There was a time, before John, when Arthur was the most special thing in Dutch’s life. As the gang grew along with the space between them, Arthur didn’t feel so special anymore and learned to live with the fact; that Dutch would still always be the most special thing to him. Dutch knew the right words to appease Arthur, knew just what to say to bend his ear and reign complete control over him, but this time his words were genuine. Arthur had known Dutch for twenty years, and he knew when the man was speaking with an ulterior motive in mind instead of voicing his truth.
He couldn’t help but watch his retreating form, one he’d thought about more times than he’d care to admit.
It wasn’t as though Arthur had never had any experience with Dutch’s body. Not in a lewd sense, but spending so long travelling the open road with a man led to the odd occasion where the two would share a bedroll or a room at a hotel. On some of those occasions, the night would be cold and Arthur would naturally gravitate towards Dutch’s body heat. He always obliged, slinging an arm around Arthur and likely being thankful for Arthur’s warmth too. It was necessary, of course. Purely for survival purposes.
But now, with such a large gang and no need for the two of them to spend more than a night away from camp together, Arthur missed it.
He missed Dutch. As much as he loved the gang and would do anything for them, there were times when Arthur Morgan would like to relive the old days and have Dutch all to himself.
Those times alone with him, the closeness between their bodies along with Dutch’s attention directed at only Arthur had satiated his gnawing hunger. Deep down, Arthur had always known that there was something about Dutch’s touch that meant more than the touch of another. He’d placated himself with what he had, and lying beside Dutch on a frosty night or sitting shoulder-to-shoulder at the campfire was enough for him. It had to be. His urges satisfied, the fog in Arthur’s brain would clear and leave him with the razor-sharp focus Dutch needed from his top gun. Arthur learnt how to indulge himself and at the same time put himself in the best position for making Dutch proud.
But that was then, and this is now.
Now, Arthur can’t remember the last time he shared more than an hour with just Dutch, let alone an hour huddled beside him. Dutch’s palm on Arthur’s shoulder, a firm and secure hold as the man told him how much he meant to him, saying he’s not just his son but he’s more than that, broke even Arthur’s long-standing defences. He’d crumbled under the touch, his innards melting with the warmth of the feeling alone, and God did he want more.
But then Dutch was gone, back off into camp and Arthur wilted at the loss of light that radiated from the one man he truly adores. Because that’s what it was, Arthur felt many things for Dutch, but adoring took the cake over all of them.
“Oh,” Dutch stopped in his tracks, turning slightly to look at Arthur once more, “I almost forgot, I owe you.”
A small gesture of his finger told Arthur to fall into step with him as he continued the path to his tent, and Arthur was at his side in an instant.
One of the most bizarre things about Dutch was that man’s smell. Ever since Arthur had known him, he’d always had this distinct smell about him. Underneath the scents of gun oil, tobacco, whiskey, or whatever cologne Dutch had found at that point, the man’s own smell always lingered. Arthur didn’t know how to describe it, other than Dutch. It was Arthur's favourite.
And now, entering his closed tent for the first time in... a while, that smell wafted straight up Arthur’s nostrils.
“It’s sad to think back to you in your prime,” Arthur hummed, easing the one-sided tension from being in such close proximity with one another.
Dutch tutted, glancing briefly at a stack of papers and straightening them out. “Don’t be so conceited, Arthur, it’s unbecoming.”
“Aw, if I’d have known you’d be such a sore loser, I wouldn’t have accepted the race.”
“Don’t try to annoy me, son,” Dutch turned, hands on his hips with a slight tilt of his head. “Now, tell me what it is you’d like.”
“What I’d like?”
“Yes,” Dutch said slowly, as though talking to a toddler, “you have a prize to claim, if your mind can recall. Or have you taken one too many blows to the head recently? Ride your horse into a tree again, perhaps?”
“I do not do that,” Arthur folded his arms in defence.
“Yes, you do. Quite a lot, actually. Surprised the poor mount of yours can even see.”
“My horse is fine,” Arthur retorted. “And no, my wit is as sharp as it has always been.”
Dutch hummed in lazy agreement. “I suppose you have always been a little dim.”
Arthur knew better than to bite, while Hosea’s teasing was always obvious and light, Dutch preferred to be more menacing with it and enjoyed the squirming from the recipient of his playful taunting. The smile that graced the man’s face after the extended silence told him he was satisfied.
“So, what will it be.”
While he was thankful for the change of subject, internally cursing himself for never being able to keep up with Dutch on a verbal scale, he still didn’t have a clue what to ask for. He knew he was maybe overthinking it, but this was a rare occurrence.
“Come on, Arthur. This is your chance,” Dutch widened his arms before placing the papers on his side table, “you can have whatever you want. You won fair and square.”
Finally, a little humility.
“W-Well, what would you have asked me for?”
Arthur knew full well Dutch didn’t have to win a race to get what he wanted from him. The man only had to look at Arthur and there he was, waiting diligently and willing to do whatever it took to make Dutch happy. It was pathetic, really, but Arthur knew that’s the way it would always be. The way it always had been. There was a small part of Arthur’s mind, a quiet whisper in an otherwise disarrayed cloud of thoughts, that gave attention to the prospect that there may be things Dutch wouldn’t ask of Arthur. Things he’d need an excuse for, and this would have been a perfect excuse. In the same way that it is for Arthur if he only had an inch of the man’s confidence and self-belief.
But Dutch paused at that, the alteration in his expression telling Arthur all he needed to know about how much time he’d considered any secret desires he’d indulged in. The answer was none at all.
Arthur chuckled, finding humour in Dutch’s empty response. “Yeah, in fairness, I do whatever you ask of me, anyway.”
“That’s because I am reasonable with my requests,” his face changed to reflect thoughtfulness and humbleness, as though he was either of those things at that moment.
“You? Reasonable? Shit, Dutch, you really are getting old. Looks like your memory is finally giving up on you.”
Dutch huffed a laugh, placing a hand on Arthur’s shoulder again. “My boy, perhaps if you did not excel at every task I give you I would not ask for so many more.”
Arthur worked on a swallow; the physical contact muddled with the praise sending his mind into a tizzy. “Maybe I’ll start slacking, in that case.”
“Oh no,” Dutch’s chest rumbled with a laugh, “I know you better than anyone and I know how incapable you are at sitting still.”
While Arthur wasn’t in a position to deny that, all he could focus on was the hand still planted on his shoulder.
“Come on!” Dutch threw his arms up slightly, returning them to grip at his gun belt and Arthur used all of his self-control not to glance down. “Tell me what you want.”
Arthur knew full well what he wanted. He’d tried to think of something else, anything else, but nothing came close. This was something he’d wanted for far too many years. “I don’t know, I guess...”
Dutch didn’t appear fooled by Arthur’s feigned attempt at thinking as he scratched at his nape and darted his eyes to the corner of the tent. He really did know him better than anyone. His mouth quirked into a smile and Arthur was drawn to it like a moth to a flame. God, how he wanted to kiss that mouth of his.
But then Dutch stilled, as though he’d caught the path of Arthur’s eye line who promptly cleared his throat. “Ah, I don’t -”
“Son,” Dutch’s voice rumbled low through the confines of the tent, dropping to a volume that encased them in guaranteed privacy, “you know you can ask me for anything.”
Arthur’s breath stilled in his chest, and the look on Dutch’s face was an unreadable one. He could see the intrigue and the excitement that the man seemed to be holding down. Surely, as he had done many times, Arthur was misreading the situation and would only end up making a fool out of himself if he dared venture down that path.
“Come on,” Dutch commanded softly, “ask me.”
Arthur never was one to deny Dutch. He closed his eyes, not wanting to see what came next but being unable to keep it in any longer. His reaction couldn’t be that bad, and Arthur’s back ached with the heavy truth it carried. He trusted Dutch. Always had. Always will.
“I want you to kiss me.” Arthur was surprised at the measured tone that left him, even if he had practically blurted the words out. He allowed his eyes to do their job again.
Then when Dutch brought his hand up, Arthur half-expected a strike across his face to follow it. But instead, that calloused palm brushed the fallen strands of overdue-to-be-cut hair from Arthur’s brow, and Dutch’s eyes followed the motion until they met Arthur’s. At that moment, seeing the calm determination and tempering intrigue that resided in the warm brown of his eyes, he understood exactly why the man had women falling at his feet. If he had so much power from a look and touch alone, Arthur daren’t think about the power he welded when he used other or all of the items he had at his disposal. He suspected he’d never needed to do so.
Arthur had stopped breathing and would soon pass out on Dutch’s floor, he was sure of it. But he couldn’t seem to remember how to take in air no matter how badly he wanted to inhale all of Dutch. He wasn’t even sure when the man had gotten so close.
“Relax,” Dutch cooed, noticing the nerves radiating from Arthur and using them to feed his own confidence. He brought a thumb over Arthur’s cheekbone, swiping at dirt and sweat but from the look on his face, anyone would have believed Arthur had been doused in sweet honey. “I never could say no to you, Arthur.”
That was his name. His name that oozed from Dutch’s lips like nectar from a bright pink fuchsia on an early spring morning. He tethered himself to it, his only remaining string tied to his sense of self or else he’d ascend straight to heaven. That was the last thing he needed, considering the extra sin he was about to add to his long list of acts against God.
Then Dutch leaned in.
And Arthur found out what heaven truly was.
The press of the surprisingly soft lips against his reminded Arthur that he was a sentient being and it was necessary to respond and reciprocate in this instance. He allowed himself to do it; allowed himself this small slice of eternal paradise that would outlive the both of them, despite how much he believed he didn’t deserve it.
His lips were on fire in what Arthur could only describe as a blaze of glory. He’d kissed before, he enjoyed kissing and had a decent record of the act, especially when compared to some of the men he knew. But this man, his man if only for a fleeting moment, was the one on the receiving end. Or maybe it was Arthur that was on the receiving end. He didn’t know, nor did he care.
As the remembrance of who he was and where he was began to fade, Arthur needed a new tether and opted for his only option. He brought his hands to Dutch’s waist, willing himself not to grip too hard but he didn’t want it to be over just yet. The feel of Dutch’s moustache brushing over the stubble on his upper lip, the taste of the long-forgotten cigar that’d entertained Dutch earlier in the day, and the man himself closer than he’d ever been before were all sensations Arthur wasn’t ready to part with.
But then Dutch pulled off, more eased off and a shaky sigh left Arthur. It was all he could manage.
“How many do I owe you?” Dutch focused his mind on slowly exhaling and the pad of his thumb pressed gently onto the middle of Arthur’s bottom lip.
“I -” Arthur faltered, knowing it was his turn to say something smooth but coming up blank, not that he was surprised.
Dutch hummed thoughtfully, knowing that Arthur had always had a hard time asking outright for the things he wanted. “I’ll rephrase – how long have you wanted this?”
Any and all effort to remain composed withered, and Arthur released his frustration with a long sigh, huffing an accepting laugh void of any humour. “Long time, Dutch. Longer than I care to admit,” Arthur mumbled, relishing in the contact of Dutch’s thumb on his mouth.
“I see.”
What Arthur wanted to do was answer the question properly, provide the clarity Dutch was clearly hankering for but feared he’d ruin the moment if he said anything. Instead, he closed his mouth around the digit and softly sucked it into his mouth, noting the taste of gun oil and shame but not caring one bit.
Hearing Dutch’s breath hitch in response sent warm electricity through Arthur’s entire body, and any humiliation he might’ve, and probably should’ve, felt in the act was silenced at seeing Dutch in raptures as he stared at one of his oldest friends performing such an act that he never thought he’d see. Arthur released his thumb with a quiet pop, feeling a mix of embarrassment and... something else he didn’t want to give a name to rise up and fill his body full of static.
A lapse in time in that small tent left the two men suspended, neither knowing what to do next nor how to move things forward.
“Screw it,” Dutch surrendered, closing his hand over Arthur’s nape and pulling him back to where he belonged, as far as Arthur was concerned.
Then Arthur saw the ferocious side of Dutch he loved so much. The side of Dutch that would set his mind to something and not give up until he had it. Arthur felt a tongue swipe over his bottom lip, and he was reminded of how easy it was to do what Dutch wanted. It was second nature by now, and there was a small measure of security in being so obedient. Dutch would steer him right. Dutch still trusted him enough to come to him with his biggest problems requiring solutions and was safe in the knowledge that Arthur would always deliver.
Arthur just never knew it would extend to this.
It was too easy to let his lips part. Allowing his tongue to meet Dutch’s as it swirled around his mouth had been the simplest part of Arthur’s day. He relinquished everything, just when he thought he’d given Dutch all he had, he gave him all that remained in that kiss.
Now he gripped his waist, unafraid of anything considering the events that were currently transpiring. He felt invincible, and for the first time like he could do no wrong. Dutch’s had remained on his nape and held him in place, his other coming to the small of Arthur’s back and pulling his frame to his.
The contact was overwhelming.
It was also scarily addicting. Arthur knew this fancy of his would never do him any favours, and he almost grew sad at the notion that nothing would ever come close.
Almost.
Then he remembered that with Dutch, he would always be invincible.
Arthur’s chest against Dutch’s allowed him to feel the equally laboured breathing that came from him, and he was sure he could feel his heartbeat pounding against his ribcage. Or perhaps it was his own, which would come as no surprise considering its intensity. All these years, all this time waiting for something he thought would never come; Arthur suspected this was one of his dreams but didn’t care enough to wake up.
And of everything Arthur had been to Dutch; he’d never had the honour of being this. This was special. He was special once more.
The clash of teeth and mingling of spit continued and Arthur dared to bring a hand up to Dutch’s hair, feeling the soft curls between his fingers as he brushed over his scalp. Dutch didn’t seem to mind, somehow deepening the kiss and Arthur became acutely aware of the weakness in his knees.
He never wanted it to stop. It couldn’t stop, because Arthur wasn’t sure if it would ever start again and with that knowledge, he feared he’d drop dead right on the spot. It was almost worse than never kissing him, experiencing Dutch van der Linde in such an intimate way and knowing it was a one-time thing was downright cruel.
So, it was simple; he wouldn’t let it end.
A sound came from Arthur at that, something between a hum and moan but it was muffled by Dutch’s mouth on his. He regretted it instantly when the warmth left his face and he flittered his eyes open at the same time Dutch brought his forehead to rest against Arthur’s.
He wasn’t sure when he’d started panting, he’d be embarrassed that such a small excursion had brought him to that point if it weren’t for the twin response from Dutch. Still, he couldn’t help but think he’d done something wrong or taken it too far. Arthur desperately wanted to apologise, but the words simply would not form.
Arthur allowed himself to just be, to let the moment wash over him and pull every ounce of joy from it while he could.
A calm certainty arrived, one that told him he’d never feel anything like this again. He didn’t deserve to be privy to such a thing as Dutch’s affections, and knew nothing would ever be comparable. Until Dutch uttered his next words.
“I don’t think I’m quite done with you yet, cowboy.”